


Chilled to the Bone

by AriesAscending



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Gen, Multi, Tsundere Papyrus (Undertale), Underfell Grillby (Undertale), Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underfell Sans (Undertale)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 03:26:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18002921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AriesAscending/pseuds/AriesAscending
Summary: Papyrus' house is freezing. You just wanna be warm.





	Chilled to the Bone

**Author's Note:**

> So..... This is...... My first reader insert??? I wrote this way back when I first started getting into the fandom and finding reader inserts and just... Yeah. Anyways hope you like it lol

Papyrus' house is freezing.

That's not even a hyperbole. His house is literally freezing, as in "below-32-degrees". You know because you read the thermometer and you can't feel your toes anymore. Or your fingers. Or your nose, for that matter. They're so cold that if not for the fact that you can see them shivering along with the rest of you, you probably would have thought they'd fallen off.

You'd had this conversation with him many a time. It usually went the same way.

("Papyrus, I'm freezing," you'd say, to which he would reply, "Go get a blanket."

You'd rifle through their linen closet. There was nothing but bones, dog residue, and a weird brown stain that was either ketchup or blood. You'd never think about it too long. You'd walk back.

"There are no blankets in your closet," you'd announce, to which he  would reply, "Then go get a coat."

You'd rifle through your pockets. Nothing but lint and an old packet of mustard you'd hung onto for Sans. You needed to clean these pants.

"I don't have any money," you'd announce, to which he would reply, "then go make some," to which you would frown at him. "They don't allow humans to work, Papyrus."

He'd sneer at you. "Well, I suppose you are up the creek, as it were. Now leave me alone.")

You were actually dying of hypothermia. You did not want to die of hypothermia, so you rifled through their old couch hopefully. There was no change to be found this time. You groaned, a sound akin to a dying walrus (you would know; you had seen videos up on the surface), and rolled to your feet. You nearly tipped over, because you couldn't feel them, and worked with stiff fingers to pull on your boots. You were going to go live with Grillby, you decided. He was a jerk, but at least his place was warm.

The trek over might have been absolute agony, if you could have felt it, but being numbed as you were you didn't notice much. Still, you thought you might have cried a little with relief as Grillby's came into view. You pushed in and were instantly smothered in heat. It felt like you were burning alive, but it felt so good. You hobbled up to the source of the warmth, melting onto the stool before the fire elemental in a puddle of happiness. You hadn't been happy like this since you fell.

A fist roughly taps your head and you turn it up with a groan. Grillby is leaning over you, royal blue-purple features twisted in a scowl of disgust. You have long since learned not to take it personally; Grillby doesn't really like anyone. Especially not Sans, with his quite frankly impressive tab. "Are you going to order or am I going to have to kick you out?"

"Please don't," You reply, giving him a pleading stare that you have perfected from the dogs. "Something warm. Anything really.  I am frozen."

"to the bone?" a familiar baritone drawls into your ear on the left. You stiffen in surprise and turn, very slowly, to glare at Sans, eyes squinting into slivers. You hate it when he does that, and he knows it. "hehe. c'mon, sweetheart, don't be so cold."

"Which would be colder," you ask no one musingly, resting a  finger on your chin and looking up at the top row of beer bottles, “My attitude, or the snow that I throw you into for your terrible puns?"

"the snow," he replied with a shrug, the molten gold metal of his false tooth gleaming at you from within his smirk. Turning to the retreating elemental, he called, "the usual for me, firecracker."

Grillby's middle finger flicks up over his shoulder as he departs through the fire escape. Sans laughs and returns the gesture without a second thought. You scowl at both of them, but Sans especially. "Why is it that everytime I come here you're magically here too?" you demand, shifting on your stool. Part of you kind of wants to move to another stool, because you don't care much for Sans, but that would be rude, and it's against your own moral code to be impolite.

"well, obviously you're following me," he replies casually, still smiling cheekily. Your eye twitches.

"Of course. Obviously," you agree, with as much sarcasm as you can muster. Grillby comes back with your orders. You thank him, and your smile doesn't wane when he utters a few cross words at you. He does the same to Sans, but you think he has more to say to the skeleton. It looks like Grillby was finally warming up to you.

(You ignore the weird looks they give you when you let out a pained groan and drop your head onto the counter. Sans is such a bad influence.)

"so what brought ya' out by grillbz' so early, sweetheart?" Sans drawls, words slightly muffled by the mouth full of food he's chewing(?).

You scowl at him, watching with disgusted fascination and he seems to swallow. "Don't talk with your mouth full, that's gross. And I'm here because I don't want to freeze in your house anymore. It is so cold Sans. So cold." You gnosh on a fry and sigh with pleasure as the magic fizzles over your tongue, accompanied by the salty taste. Grillby's fries were the absolute best.

When you glance over at him, his single red eyelight is trained on you thoughtfully. Your frown deepens and you swallow before snarking, "Take a picture, it'll last longer."

Sans seems to snap out of whatever trance he's fallen into with a chuckle. "i never pictured you to be so snappish, kid." You throw a fry at him pointedly and he laughs again. "you set yourself up for that one."

You did, admittedly, but you'd never tell him that. Instead you go back to eating, and so does he. Silence falls between you, but it's not at all awkward, like you thought it might be. Unlike most other monsters, Sans seems to see you as more-or-less his equal. Or maybe he just likes to watch you writhe in agony at his stupid puns. Both are possible.

"you got a coat?" He asks, and it's so sudden you jump a little and almost inhale a fry. Casually he pats your back, like that'll actually help, until you can breath again, looking just as amused as ever. "no need to get so choked up, sweetheart."

You hate him so much, and as you look at him you hope your eyes say so. "No, I do not have a coat, because when I fell it was summer, and then I was dying of heat. I had a coat,  but it got-" You stop, lips pursing, as you thought of the fight with Toriel, who had burned it to a crisp. "-ruined." you finish decisively.

He hums softly and you eye him wearily, but he's already gone back to eating. You finish the last of your fries and go to pay, but you remember that you don't have enough. A whine  of dismay worms its way up your throat. Sans snorts next to you. "relax, kid, i'll have him put it on my tab." 

He winks at you.

Okay. So maybe Sans isn't all that bad all the time, but he's still usually pretty bad! Still, you allow yourself to give him a small smile. "Thank you, Sans. I'll pay you back. Somehow."

"eh, don't mention it. what're friends for?" He misses or ignores the startled look you're now giving him. "oh, but before you go..." You watch him slide his jacket off his arms and for some reason you feel yourself begin to blush slightly. You've never seen him with his jacket off. It's weird.

It's even weirder when he holds it out to you. You blink at it, and then up at him, confused. He laughs softly, that little huff of laughter he sometimes gives off instead of his usual chuckle. "you're s'pposed to take it, sweetheart. just until ya get to the house, y'hear?"

Slowly, afraid it might be a trick, you reach out to take it from him. Sans never takes off his coat. You'd once seen him chew off a monster's head for brushing it. So why on earth was he giving it to you, unless it was a joke? But no, he doesn't pull away and laugh at you for being so gullible, he just patiently waits for you to take it off his hands and put it on. So you do.

His jacket is warm, which is strange, because he's a skeleton, but maybe it's just from Grillby. The fluff on his hood tickles your chin and you bury your face in it, relishing the soft texture. It smells like mustard and dust, which is kinda gross, but you have no other choice, really. You'll manage.

You turn to look at him. "Thank you for this, Sans, but won't you be cold?" You see the look on his face and realize too late that you have once more walked right into one of his stupid jokes.

"course not. the cold just goes right through me," he drawls, and you squint at him. His shoulders are shaking with barely restrained laughter. He's really enjoying your pain, sadistic jerk.

"I am going home now," you state loudly, zipping the coat up dramatically and pulling the hood over your head. The fluff lining it almost obscures your vision, but you can still see Sans practically dying of laughter at the bar, most likely at how ridiculous you look, and as you walk away you hear him choke out a farewell. You jam your hands into the pockets, pretending you don't feel all of the mustard packets that have been stashed in here, and trek back to the skelebro's house. It's a much more tolerable journey now that you have this jacket.

When you step inside, you spot an angry note from Papyrus proclaiming that he's left the house to recalibrate his puzzles. You huff and glance over at the couch, surprised to find a blood colored blanket bundled up there. Glancing back at the note, you bring it closer, and in much smaller, still-angry handwriting, you see, "I FOUND THE BLANKET. IT WAS MOST CERTAINLY IN THE LINEN CLOSET, YOU MISERABLE BLIND BAT. -PAPYRUS."

You look at the blanket. Pick it up. Press it to your face and inhale deeply. Snow, pine trees, lasagna... Linen closet your foot. This is Papyrus' blanket. With a soft laugh, you settle on the couch and wind it around your legs, leaning back in the couch. You decide to keep Sans' jacket on, for now, and you cuddle down into the fluff, closing your eyes and enjoying the warmth. It was freezing in Papyrus' house, but for once, you didn't mind as you fell asleep.


End file.
